


Something Real

by evilmouse



Series: Something's There [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels, Star Wars: Thrawn Series - Timothy Zahn (2017)
Genre: Chimaera, Chiss (Star Wars), Creative Use of Tapestry, Desk Sex, Doggy Style, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Floor Sex, Hugs, Imperial Officers (Star Wars), Kissing, Loud Sex, Love Confessions, Misunderstandings, More than half this fic is sex, Office Sex, Resolved Sexual Tension, Romance, TIE Defenders, Xenophilia, and they lived happily ever after, name kink, thryce
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-18 06:40:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19329181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilmouse/pseuds/evilmouse
Summary: Question:  How does Governor Pryce maintain a purely professional relationship with Grand Admiral Thrawn after he's drunkenly propositioned her?Answer:  She doesn't.





	Something Real

**Author's Note:**

  * For [coffeeberry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeeberry/gifts).



> Best enjoyed after reading [Something of Significance](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18629500). Unbeta'd but lingering too long on the hard drive.

It had been two weeks.

Governor Arihnda Pryce had done her best to take her own advice and forget about the interlude on Chandrila. At first, she had questioned her recollection of that evening in Thrawn’s hotel room—the chocolate, the wine, that tongue, that torso, those _toes._ But rather than dim and fade in her memory, it seemed like every day she remembered a new detail, or a fresh reminder struck her thoughts about Thrawn’s condition, his advances, his words.

_Then why deny yourself?_

He’d seemed to remember everything at that moment—his voice, his eyes taking on some of the clarity that the Naboo wine had stolen. But the next day, at the closing ceremony, Thrawn had acted completely normal. Staid. Pleasant, but hardly familiar. 

Yes, she told herself, that was what she had wanted. Suggested. What made sense, personally and professionally. But Pryce still found these resurfacing souvenirs painful to confront. Her mind ran a cyclical interrogation _“what if what if what if”_ that she couldn’t shut up. 

The buzzer on her desk sounded. Pryce punched it, forcing her attention back to the present and away from her masochistic memory.

“Yes?”

Her secretary chirped in a grating sing-song voice that meant he was stressed and busy. It was an unusual coping mechanism, and Pryce had taught herself to ignore it.

“Governor Pryce, there’s a comm request coming through from the _Chimaera._ Shall I transfer?”

Her private comm had not sounded, so it was unlikely to be Grand Admiral Thrawn. He knew her direct line. In any event, she was in no mood to talk to him, so perhaps this was a good thing, to have one of his subordinates reach out instead.

“Put it through,” she snapped, closing the internal comm channel.

A second later, the outside comm connected.

“This is Governor Pryce,” she answered briskly, expecting an audio transmission. The imposing figure of the Grand Admiral suddenly loomed over her desk in holo.

“Good afternoon, Governor,” Thrawn greeted her. 

His tone implied he truly must not remember a thing. Pryce stood up and debated whether or not to open her side of the visual. Thrawn looked his normal, put-together, squared-away self. The assessment summoned contrasting memories of a rumpled tunic and discarded clothing and… Pryce gave herself a mental slap.

She hadn’t seen a mirror since this morning. The realization and its seeming importance annoyed her, so in defiance of her own vanity, she slammed down the visual control, making the image two-way. Why should she care what she looked like to Thrawn anyway? It was preposterous. 

“Good afternoon, Grand Admiral,” she returned smoothly. “I wasn’t expecting you on this line.”

“Ah yes,” Thrawn nodded briefly in acknowledgement of the aberration in their normal communication channels. “My personal comm is currently undergoing a bit of an upgrade. Apologies.”

 _Apologies?_ There was no need to apologize, it was perfectly acceptable, but Pryce wasn’t one to cede territory when it was granted her. She ignored the information then, attempting to keep her face blank. He had called _her,_ after all, and could tell her what he wanted.

“Of course,” she said. After the words left her lips, Pryce allowed a slight smile. It was a good non-response, like something Thrawn himself would say. He was always implacable. She could play that game too.

“There have been some developments with the TIE Defender program on Lothal. There will be a briefing tomorrow at 1600 aboard the _Chimaera._ ”

Pryce liked how he didn’t ask or invite her; it was also her project—her turf. Thrawn was informing her, but there was the implicit acknowledgement that her presence was expected. Required. And she knew that if she had a conflict, Thrawn would have rescheduled the briefing. That was understood as well. She made a quick show of checking her datapad schedule, and then nodded curtly at the transparent shimmer of the alien atop her desk.

“I will be there, Grand Admiral. Thank you.”

“I look forward to it, Governor,” he said, and closed the comm without offering her an opportunity to reply.

Pryce sank into her high-backed chair, staring at the empty space where Thrawn’s head and shoulders had been.

What did he mean, “look forward to it”? Look forward to the briefing? Look forward to her attendance? Her presence? This was worse than being a teenager. Pryce groaned, and the sound didn’t satisfy, so she cursed instead, a rich string of Lothalian vulgarity that oddly did make her feel better.

Tomorrow. A briefing, nothing special, nothing to raise alarms. But Pryce knew herself, and based on the inappropriate thoughts she’d been entertaining for the past two weeks, she felt certain that much preparation would be needed if the spectre of embarrassment was to be avoided.

~o~

As her shuttle approached the docking bay on the _Chimaera,_ Pryce swallowed. Thrawn had seemed normal on the comm, and why shouldn’t he? Nothing had changed between them, of course, other than he’d stripped and propositioned her while under the influence of alcohol. Pryce sighed at the memory. She was thinking too much about it, really. 

It was in the past, an unfortunate moment, and while she had perhaps hoped on some level that there had been some genuine feeling behind his overtures, she would not admit that. Not even to herself. Far better to continue as they were. A productive collaboration for the benefit of the Empire.

Thrawn was waiting for her as the Lambda’s ramp lowered, flanked by his stormtrooper escort. Pryce suppressed a smile. She liked the fact that the Grand Admiral personally awaited her arrival each time; her status merited it, of course, but it still felt special. Annoyed again upon realizing her inappropriate reaction, Pryce pushed aside any consideration of what it meant. All the more reason that she was taken aback when Thrawn seemed to greet her with more warmth than usual in his tone, and even rested a palm lightly against her back as they turned towards the briefing room.

Pryce bit the inside of her lip and glared down the sterile corridor as she walked alongside him, confused and inexplicably angry.

~o~

The briefing was useful, however. Encouraging, even. Ttamm Shriku, the brilliant Sienar engineer in charge of TIE/D Defender design, explained in succinct detail how all aspects of cockpit controls were now manufactured saboteur-proof. It was a step forward, as Rebel meddling had delayed production, and prior successful attempts at sabotage had forced them to increase the number of test flights before clearing the fighters for deployment. 

Pryce grimaced as she remembered the latest casualty. One of their best pilots had been lost after three test flights had not indicated any danger or inconsistencies in operation. Yet the navcon had malfunctioned and altitude sensors gone haywire, crashing the ship into the surface before he could eject. The Empire couldn’t afford these delays. It reflected badly on her factories, her planet, and, by extension, her Governorship.

Thrawn seemed pleased at the news, complimenting Shriku on making progress, while also suggesting faster production rates were expected. Pryce watched the delicate dance with interest, impressed, as she often was, with how the Grand Admiral seemed to simultaneously inspire and impose his will. It was a talent she knew she lacked. 

She could be diplomatic, when warranted and when protocol or circumstances demanded it, but she would have not afforded this chief engineer the same praise that Thrawn had granted him. After all, it was his design in the first place that had allowed the Rebels to destroy so many prototypes. It was only right and natural that he fix his mistakes.

A few minutes later, Shriku was escorted out, and with a horrible, sinking feeling, Pryce registered the fact that she was alone with Thrawn. For the first time since…that time.

The Grand Admiral switched off the holo display and turned to her. His white uniform seemed blindingly bright. His red eyes shone across the table.

“Governor,” he began, and she tensed at the polished smoothness of his voice. He gestured towards the door. “Shall we relocate?”

That was an odd way to put it. Business was done, and she would be returning to Lothal. But she stood up and straightened her tunic. Thrawn’s Basic was completely fluent, but perhaps this was a rare lapse in vocabulary choice.

“Of course.” Those two words again, allowing her distance and agreement. A good standard response, if somewhat overused as of late.

Pryce stepped into the deserted hallway and the heavy door slid shut behind them. She wondered briefly where the other officers had gone, or if Thrawn’s security detail and bodyguard Rukh were somewhere nearby.

They walked towards the turbolift silently, but rather than going to the hangar level, it stopped on the command deck. Thrawn gently put a hand on her elbow. It tingled at his touch, and Pryce resisted the urge to pull away. That would imply a reaction—that it was something worth noticing. The pressure automatically steered her out of the lift and Pryce yanked her thoughts from the feel of his fingers long enough to ask what was going on.

“Grand Admiral, was there another meeting scheduled?” 

Her tone was icy, which wasn’t her intent, but sometimes things just came out that way. There was nothing she could do about it. Thrawn didn’t seem to notice or care however, as they arrived at his command center _cum_ office.

He coded open the door as he answered. “Unscheduled, Governor. There are things you and I should discuss.” He waved her inside as the distinctive and dim blue-grey lights came on. “In private.”

Her stomach twisted unpleasantly. This had to be about Chandrila. What else? Or was she reading too much into it? Perhaps Shriku was a Rebel sympathizer and Thrawn couldn’t inform her before the briefing? Or Fulcrum had finally been located? Possibilities rattled around her brain, but Pryce suppressed them as best she could, stiffening her spine as she entered the open space that served as Thrawn’s personal base of operations. She would have to ask him sometime if he kept the lighting low to accommodate his own unique vision. It wasn’t the first time she’d wondered at the shadowy ambiance he seemed to prefer.

Thrawn took a seat in one of his guest chairs, on the far side of his desk, rather than behind it. He gestured with an open palm towards the other. Leaning back, he tracked her movements as she sat, eyes unreadable, a strange twitch quickly controlled at his lips.

The temperature was rather too cold, and Pryce glanced uncomfortably at the door, then at some of the static art display behind Thrawn’s chair. He was obsessed, she thought critically. The Grand Admiral’s extrapolated battle tactics and strategies from studying the pieces were nothing short of ingenious, but really—

A small sound from the seat opposite drew her gaze back to the alien sitting there. Thrawn clearly had noticed her visual avoidance, and quite effectively forced her attention back to meet his stare. He did everything effectively, she thought, exasperated. 

Still he said nothing.

“Well, Grand Admiral?” She felt more words rise to her lips, but bit them back. She would not guess at his topic or intentions. 

There was no immediate answer, but he leaned slightly forward and Pryce was suddenly even more self-conscious. Just when she was about to stand up and end this awkward encounter, he spoke.

“I dislike pointless games.” 

It seemed a non-sequitur, and he’d delivered the declaration in a flat monotone. 

“It may be surprising, as in the theatre of war, we require so-called war games. A practice of tactics and strategy, drills and responses. But that is critical preparation and analysis, not actual ‘play’.”

She had no response. Pryce crossed her grey-clad legs, and cocked her head, listening.

“However, I am aware that in other domains, playing games is expected. Perhaps even desirable.” He raised an eyebrow as if he’d just asked a question, but Pryce had no idea what he was talking about. It must have showed. 

“Human interaction. Sentimental pursuits,” he continued, the eyebrow moving even higher up his forehead.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand, Grand Admiral.” And she didn’t, willful in her incomprehension. Whatever he was getting at, this was certainly a most circuitous route to the point.

“Please call me Thrawn. I am speaking with you in a personal capacity, not in my official role.”

And there it was. The shock she’d expected at the confirmation didn’t feel quite as jarring, more like a dull weight, a lead blanket against her skin. A personal conversation. She quickly replayed his words, trying to determine the safest way back to the official road he was attempting to avoid.

Pryce considered her next phrase carefully. She could not, in this context, refuse his request. Far better to avoid his name entirely. And must she offer the same familiarity? Perhaps she must. 

As Thrawn often did, he deduced her train of thought, easing her along whatever path he wished to walk. His eyes seemed to grow larger, his uniform stretched tighter across his chest as he leaned back in the chair.

“I understand if you prefer otherwise.”

Prefer what?! It was difficult to concentrate. The name thing. That was where he was going. Pryce sighed quietly. Better to get this over with. And she would prefer, she supposed, to separate this unfortunate conversation from their professional interaction. Perhaps names _were_ the best mechanism to clearly delineate such differences.

“Thrawn.” She almost lost her nerve as she used his core name, then forged ahead. “You may call me Arihnda. For this _personal…_ discussion.”

He looked quite pleased at her concession. Inordinately pleased. And not trying to hide it either, a real smile and a slight crinkling at the edges of his eyes.

“Thank you, Arihnda.”

There it was again, that lovely pronunciation floating from his lips. She had missed it. For some reason the sound relaxed her, made her feel better about whatever this was. It was almost conspiratorial, to speak this way, to use such familiarity. Thrawn’s motivations eluded her, but some of the trepidation dissipated in her chest. They were still on the same side, whatever the topic.

“I wish to express my gratitude, Arihnda, for your care.” 

She met his eyes and held them, trying to focus on the soft yellow hue that was almost overcome by the burning red surrounding them. She _had_ to focus on something, to take her mind from maddening memories and that unceasing mantra that her subconscious now decided to push to front and center: _What if what if what if._

“I behaved badly, but I hope, not unforgivably, in your company.”

He was speaking softly, the words sincere, but tone easy, unembarrassed. Pryce marveled at Thrawn’s composure as well as his phrasing. This did not have the sense of rehearsed speech, but surely he had given some thought to what he would say about the whole mess. She waved a hand, a slight movement to erase whatever fears he may have about her opinions or judgements.

“Of course not, Gr—Thrawn.” A gracious smile drifted over her lips. “Everyone has suffered similar episodes, made mistakes best forgotten, while under the influence.”

This wasn’t so bad, she decided. He just wanted assurance that they had put this behind them, no need to dwell on it. That was easily done. Thrawn must—

“Thank you for that, Arihnda.” A minuscule pause. A heartbeat. “But I am not suggesting what occurred is best forgotten.” A breath. A tight curl of his lips. “Nor, precisely, a mistake.”

The air suddenly was too thin, and she gulped to supplement the oxygen in her lungs. _Think,_ her brain screamed, _process, rebut, speak!_ Thankfully, words did not fail her.

“Well, yes, a valuable lesson. The wine’s effects, the—”

“I am not talking about the wine,” he interrupted.

Pryce waited, but Thrawn did not elaborate. He was looking at her most intently, the heat from his gaze something palpable that she felt like a fever spreading across her skin. It was unbalancing. Terrifying. 

Pryce stood up, hating herself for doing so, but knowing she had to stop this conversation before it went somewhere they both regretted. Why did it always fall to her to be the responsible one? Damn him.

“It was nothing more than a misunderstanding, Grand Admiral.” There, back to titles. Enough of this loaded conversation and the hopes and risks inherent.

Thrawn got to his feet as well, and now they were even closer in proximity. Almost as close as when he had seized her wrist, licked her palm. Pryce felt the recall like a physical ache, a wash of arousal between her thighs.

She started to sidle towards the door, wincing away the memory of his touch. “Thank you for the apology, but I assure you—”

Thrawn’s hands moved to her arms, halting her escape. His fingers tightened at the curve where shoulders met biceps. All words died on her lips. The red of his eyes looked dangerous now, the heat there scalding.

“I began this conversation by mentioning I dislike games.” His fingers relaxed slightly, as if he were just realizing he had grabbed her. Thrawn let his hands drop. His tone was as firm as his grip had been. “Yet you insist upon them in this area.”

He was insulting her, somehow, she was certain. 

“What area is that?”

Her words were shrouded, cold, this time by design. And she had almost called him Grand Admiral again. Good thing she had managed to avoid his name, his title altogether. Easier. And definitely better than Thrawn.

A small twist of his lips, a flicker of something that could have been exasperation flashed and was gone before it could be identified. Thrawn took a deep breath, eyes narrowing as they bore into hers.

“Courtship.”

Never would she have thought two syllables could wipe her brain as cleanly as an interrogation droid’s hypo.

Courtship. An old-fashioned word for what Thrawn apparently was attempting to discuss. Which meant…he…

She looked at the floor, trying to think, finding his gaze too distracting. Was that part of his plan, his strategy from the beginning? The wine, the chocolate…had his invitation been anything but spontaneous? Pryce’s brain struggled with the implications, the idea that Thrawn had intended something more since the beginning. But why—

“Arihnda.” Her name was beautiful when he said it, like a valued jewel or expensive piece of art. “Look at me.”

She found it impossible to do so, wondering why her eyes wouldn’t obey, cringing at how embarrassingly loud her heart was beating. Why couldn’t she reason through his admission? It was awful to be so unprepared for this…

Long fingers cradled her chin, lifting her head. 

He was so much taller…so much more controlled at this moment than she felt. An abrupt, inexplicable stab of fear underscored the realization. What was she doing? What were they thinking? She found it difficult to put words together, imprisoned by his look, feeling examined as he stared down at her.

“There is a mutual attraction.”

It was a statement of fact. He wasn’t even asking her how she felt, what she wanted. His words said he’d already figured her out. Pryce wanted to deny it, reflexively, defensively, despite such a denial being a lie and counter, perhaps, to her self-interests. Yet it was so presumptuous of him, she thought angrily, even as her muscles melted and knees weakened. Five words that said more than she’d ever believed possible. He wanted her. She had been right. It hadn’t been the Naboo wine talking, it had really been Thrawn, the exalted, impassive, alien Grand Admiral. He was admitting it—for both of them.

He remembered. What he’d propositioned, how she’d responded. And now, here, what did he hope to accomplish through this declaration? How _could_ she react, now that they lacked pretense and intoxicants?

 _Why deny…_

Thrawn’s words echoed in her memory. Why deny the truth, pleasure, desire, or themselves? There was no alcohol here to take the blame or credit.

Well, he had pronounced it, Pryce reasoned. He had assumed her agreement. Therefore she had nothing to say. Thrawn hadn’t asked for confirmation, after all. His thumb still rested on her chin, his fingers now fanning to lie against her throat. No doubt he could measure the pulse racing beneath her skin, the throb of her heartbeat responding to his words. 

As she was trying to put together a plan of action, to contemplate how best to proceed or stall, Thrawn lowered his head and kissed her.

She saw it coming, of course. His movement had been swift, but she had been granted a split second’s anticipation, wonder, and elation before his thin mouth pressed firmly against hers. 

Then Pryce stopped thinking.

Her arms moved of their own volition, sliding around his neck to hold him as they deepened the kiss. The hand at her throat stayed there, fingers at her nape. The other pressed the small of her back, removing all distance between them. She liked his flavor—wintry and spicy—and his technique, confident and rough. It was almost annoying that it had taken them so long to do this, when it was now obvious that it had been wished so much as to be practically inevitable.

Thrawn’s potential for passion had never been something she’d guessed at or allowed herself to consider, but now he was barely controlled. He opened her with hard lips and demanding tongue, wiping away any wish to resist or contemplate. There was something wild in the sheer power of his kiss—it turned her insides liquid and set her heart racing. Thrawn’s lips commanded obedience like the rest of him, leaving no alternative to surrender. It fed her own desire, to be wanted so badly. Pryce couldn’t decide if it was frightening or wonderful to feel possessed and needed like this. 

Thrawn held her tightly, hands descending to her waist. Her own fingers turned shameless, sliding down and under his starched tunic, tugging at his belt, already trying to escalate. He made no complaint, pressing her against the edge of the desk as his own hands started to unfasten her tunic. If Thrawn had been concerned about a lack of romance, or playing some sort of game, her eagerness apparently had assuaged any fears in that department.

Pryce succeeded first in her task. Thrawn’s black belt hung from its loops, asymmetrical against his legs. He abandoned her tunic, leaving the flap’s triangle dangling, as he slid hands to her ass and lifted her onto the desk. His left hand glided along her thigh to her knee as he spread her wide, pressing his hips between her legs. Pryce locked ankles behind him, sighing as his mouth left hers and began blazing a path of kisses down her neck. The high collar of her tunic got in his way, and with a low hiss Thrawn finished the work of opening it, exposing her breasts to his lips and tongue. 

An ache low in her belly made her grab his uniform, working the fastenings as their mouths continued exploring all exposed skin. She made short work of it, but he was wearing an undershirt, restricting her access to the well-defined torso that had been burned into her memory.

Slipping backwards, Thrawn tugged her closer and kissed harder, pushing Pryce down onto the polished desktop. She propped herself up on her elbows and pulled away, looking pointedly at his still-covered chest. With a small smile, Thrawn got rid of the shirt with expeditious efficiency. When he tossed it onto the chair behind him, Pryce realized that yes, this actually was happening. Her stomach tightened at the sight of him, unfamiliar happiness overtaking her, followed quickly by doubt.

It _was_ really happening, but what would happen after? When the flood of hormones had receded and roles and responsibilities were required? He’d toasted to “Pleasure in all its forms,” and perhaps this was, for him, merely in the same category as hanava fruit, Trammistan chocolate, and outrageous wine. Something of significance, but _what_ significance, when all was said and done?

Thrawn seemed to sense the shift in her emotions, returning to her with deliberation, lowering himself over her exposed breasts. His bare skin was warm. He made no move to continue, the sound of their combined breathing loud in the absence of all else. The desk was hard against her elbows, the position less than ideal to touch him, to pull him down to her, not when she had to support herself at the same time.

Thrawn seemed to be considering the same thing, his eyes assessing her disposition, forearms braced on the dark surface. Pryce thought back to that expensive hotel bed, those silken sheets, and how she’d turned away from his invitation then. It had been the right decision, she had no doubt, despite the discomfort of the location. But was there any right time for this? Any right place? Fucking on his desk? Had they lost their minds?

His lips found hers again, a softer kiss this time, then he stepped away, gently disengaging from her leglock.

A million curses flew into her head. Pryce suddenly wanted to kill him. How dare he get her here, half-naked, vulnerable, and then walk away? She was a fool, and the Grand Admiral was stupid as well as cruel, if he thought he could toy with her like this and get away with it. What was he—

Thrawn had moved swiftly to the wall, standing with an appraising look at the artwork hanging there. He glanced back at Pryce, a brief smile crossing his lips. The daggers she shot at him should have wounded, or at minimum been hard to ignore, but he didn’t seem to notice. Amusement glinted in his eyes, and then Thrawn grasped the upper edges of the tapestry, tugging it from its fixture. Two synthbolts clattered to the floor as Thrawn turned back to Pryce, folding the wide sheet of material into thirds. He pitched it onto the floor with a flourish near the internal wall, shadowed by the sculptures opposite.

“Bardottan silk.” He sounded satisfied.

Thrawn held out a hand to her, an obvious invitation. When she didn’t move, he walked over, the back of his hand touching her cheek. “Arihnda?”

She shook herself from thoughts of murder, realizing now his intention had been comfort and practicality rather than desertion. How could she be so insecure, so self-conscious? Sitting up, she nodded, feeling like she could burst into tears or leap into his arms with equal probability.

“I’m sorry,” she said. It came out quieter than she’d intended. 

This time _he_ misunderstood.

“Do you wish to stop?” Thrawn bent his head, searching her face.

“No.” She stood then, moving against him and enjoying the fact of his presence, the concern in his tone; enjoying even more how his strong arms instantly circled her, wrapped her close, held her reassuringly. It gave her confidence to explain, this comfort. “I didn’t know what you were doing, that’s all,” she mumbled against his sternum.

“A bed would be more suitable, but at the sacrifice of discretion,” he replied. She liked how she could feel his voice in his chest as he spoke. 

Thrawn ducked down, kissing her again. The reunion of tongues pushed away doubts regarding his motives. Any lingering worries faded as his kisses continued. 

Pryce shrugged out of her wide open tunic. Thrawn dropped to his knees, planting kisses along her waist as she shuffled the drab grey pants down her hips. Pryce tried not to think about what his infrared vision was seeing between her legs; it was bad enough that her underwear had been so wet it was translucent. She yanked off her boots as Thrawn finished undressing. He seemed at ease, displaying none of her own modesty.

She’d never really allowed herself to dwell too long on the idea of what the Grand Admiral would look like naked—it had been more than enough fantasy fodder to see his bare chest, the outline of his cock under the fine sheets on Chandrila. But she couldn’t deny a sense of relief at the, well, human appearance of his cock. Thicker than average, length, rather hard to tell—it was strangely curved—but clearly compatible anatomically, and unless there was some hidden biological supplement to his—

Maybe she’d been staring. Thrawn laughed and picked her up in his arms, effortlessly, like she was some princess in a bedtime story. He walked to the folded tapestry, crouching and depositing her there. It was soft, beautifully so, and far thicker than any silk she’d ever felt. They were going to fuck on his floor, then, not the desk. Pryce closed her eyes a second, taking a deep breath.

Completely irrational protests tried to intrude on the moment and Pryce mentally throttled each one. 

He was here with her. He wanted this. 

She did too.

Eyes still closed, she felt his weight as he lowered on top of her. She opened them when he kissed her neck, not trying to keep the smile from her lips. Thrawn had settled between her legs like he’d been there before, an air of contentment surrounding him.

“Better?”

“Mmm hmm,” she affirmed, running her hands from the crown of his head down his neck, over the strong muscles in his back. He was so handsome, his body like a finely constructed weapon under her fingers. Blue skin was stretched beneath her fingers; she liked feeling him move as he adjusted, flexed, pushed against her. 

“Arihnda—” 

Her hands froze against his back, her head lifting slightly to meet his eyes. 

Whatever he saw there seemed to answer the unspoken question. Thrawn kissed her violently, taking her breath away. Her shoulder blades pressed into the thick silk until she could feel the hard floor beneath. His cock pushed just as hard against her thigh. She arched as her hand travelled down between them. Contact was what she wanted, every part of him. Her fingers closed around him, stroking, taking in the heat, tracing the ridges and veins that lined his length. Thrawn’s hand smoothed up her ribs as his mouth licked in the opposite direction. He cupped one breast, rubbing the stiff nipple with his thumb. Pryce moaned as his teeth grazed the hardened tip of the other. It felt amazing, but she was impatient. She wanted him. Had always wanted him, and was done waiting.

“Thrawn…?”

Those dark lips returned to hers in response and he paused above her. His breath was heavy, deliciously so. 

“…Arihnda.”

She hesitated, undone by her own name. How to communicate this urgency without sounding ridiculous. Even now, though, every cell in her body was screaming for him, a litany of need that was debilitating. And all the ways to say what she wanted—all either overly romantic or blatant and vulgar. Pryce swallowed, mute, feeling stupid and overheated and foolish for stopping him from pleasuring her body and exploring with his lips. She had his cock in her hand, she realized, releasing him with a strange mixture of lust and embarrassment.

But like she’d spoken anyway, Thrawn leaned in and kissed her. She wanted to be fucked senseless—ravished now, worshiped later—and he knew it. She saw it in the light of his gaze, the barest curve of his lips. Pryce surrendered to it, to his knowledge of her. His kiss was clearly an answer, a comprehensive and absolute confirmation of her desires. He understood her, and perhaps that was why she wanted this. Thrawn hadn’t just accepted her, he craved her the same way. His hand travelled from her breast to her shoulder, threading into her hair. Tongue and cock pressed deep at the same moment.

Pryce gasped into his mouth, arms clenching around him. She was slick and ready, but he was far from average. Everything was stretched and painful for an instant as she adjusted, hips shifting beneath him. He waited, lips leaving hers, hovering just above. His eyes, so close, looked even more alien than usual, glowing like twin flames that could burn.

Her hands gripped his ass and pulled him deeper inside with a desperate moan. The purpose of his cock’s arc was made magnificently obvious as it climbed against her internal walls, massaging spots that she’d never been able to reach, even with her fingers. Thrawn made a noise somewhere between a groan and a sigh and started thrusting. Each movement was hard, driven, something heavy behind it. Pryce cried out with each penetration, a pressure in her lungs somehow tied to the sweet ache in her core.

Her body responded, hips lifting to meet his as their mouths met and diverged. Pryce licked a line along his neck, burying her head against his shoulder as Thrawn lifted her closer with one arm. Their chests collided as he pulled out and slammed inside her. It was exactly what she wanted, intense and deep. She yelped again, louder this time, and Thrawn laughed softly, turning his gaze from her face to glance meaningfully towards the door.

The sound of his laugh was so nice she almost didn’t register the message. Thrawn’s cock withdrew and crashed deep once more; this time she bit her lip from the force of it. Seeing the problem wasn’t going to be resolved through her poor self-control, Thrawn slid his palm over her mouth with an amused twist of his lips. Her next cry was muffled, but still audible. He pressed harder, and she was effectively silenced, finding his control as stimulating as it was admirable. Deprived of vocal release, Pryce’s hands gripped him harder, short nails digging into blue skin, legs locked around his hips. He drove faster, then seemed to remember himself, slowing and moving more shallowly. Blue fingers lifted from her lips and Pryce gasped, pulling him down for a kiss. Her mouth felt swollen and sensitive, and she wanted him to never stop.

“You don’t have sound dampeners in here?” she panted when she caught her breath.

“Yes,” he smiled, “but security regulations have them on a timer—five standard minutes. It is necessary to continually engage them…” he nodded towards the desk they’d abandoned, “as a precaution against assassins and spies.”

Pryce understood. It made sense. And she wasn’t normally this loud…but…

Thought ceased as Thrawn’s fingers drifted down her torso, stopping where they were joined. She shook her head. That would certainly be loud. Thrawn didn’t look like he was pleased with that response to the overture.

“Arihnda…”

“It doesn’t matter,” she snapped, starting to get defensive. It wasn’t always about the orgasm. Or shouldn’t be. She hadn’t been embarrassed about being loud, but now he was making it an issue. She would probably scream if she climaxed, it was clear. Sex with Thrawn wasn’t something conducive to modesty or silence. And it was equally clear he couldn’t muffle her, manipulate her, and fuck her without sprouting an additional limb. But she underestimated his conviction.

“It does matter, Arihnda.” He held her gaze, almost stern. “Your pleasure, as well as mine.”

She wanted to argue, annoyed now. It was obvious she’d had quite an overload of pleasure since they began, but Thrawn’s kiss once again stopped her from anything. His lips tugged at hers, his teeth nipping gently. And then he pulled out of her and straightened up.

Probably seeing or anticipating the protest in her eyes, Thrawn shook his head. 

“For me, please.”

He knelt and indicated she should turn over. Feeling slightly less annoyed, since he’d phrased it that way, accommodating him rather than her, Pryce did as he asked. 

Strong hands slipped beneath her hip joints, hinging her ass into the air. Before she had more than a second to consider this new position, Thrawn’s rigid cock, smooth and coated with her own juices, pressed back inside her cunt. She groaned, the position allowing him even deeper access and new angles to explore in her body. But his hands slid higher now, over her breasts, lifting her shoulders, leaning her back against his chest. She gasped as his right hand dipped between her legs, tracing the line of her to the top and teasing her clit. Before she could do more than jerk into the pressure, his other hand covered her mouth once more. She lapped at his palm, and he placed a kiss on her shoulder blade, starting a syncopated rhythm below her waist—front, and back—a thrust, a flick, a withdrawal, a push. 

Pryce writhed against him, but Thrawn held her firmly, his palm’s pressure against her as effective in its duty as his fingers were in their sweet torment. She cried out as he pinched and prodded, learning her body quickly, finding the exact ways to garner the most extreme responses from her. Her thighs quivered as she twisted and tightened around his cock while his fingers teased. She was so close, jerking and climbing, her leg muscles flexing, cunt aching, clit screaming.

She came at last, her head falling back against his sweaty shoulder as she tried to retain her senses long enough to swallow the shriek on her lips. Thrawn kissed her hair, arm looping around her waist as she sagged and surrendered to its aftermath. Slowly he started to move inside her. When she recovered enough to straighten, in one smooth motion he pulled out, flipped her onto her back once more, and slammed into her again.

Pryce watched him in a daze, eyes heavy from her orgasm, a tacit question quirking her lips. They could have finished, after all, as they had been a moment ago.

“I want to look at you,” Thrawn said, placing another kiss on her mouth with a small shrug.

The explanation, the kiss, the uncharacteristic shrug all combined in her brain like a recipe for something she’d never tasted, and Pryce decided she probably was in love with him. This was unlike any desire she’d ever experienced. This was more than something of significance. It was something real. 

Nothing could ever be as real as the heat of him pushing ever deeper and faster inside her, or as substantial as his weight atop her, or as important as the fact that he seemed to care about her—understand and accept her—as no one ever had.

Strangely, the realization didn’t cause alarm or fear. A warmth, a heat that felt as welcoming as a hot bath, travelled from her toes to her ears. Pryce smiled at the man above her, wondering if he could read this revelation the way he often anticipated her questions and concerns.

His breathing grew shorter, his hips rocking rhythmically against her. Pryce could feel another climax building, the drag of Thrawn’s cock relentless and perfect inside. She bit on her own hand just in time, as everything shattered again. A welcome darkness enveloped her, eclipsing everything that didn’t matter and leaving her with only Thrawn, his kiss, his cock, his should-be-smug-but-somehow-wasn’t smile. She felt him seize and come just after, perhaps sent over the edge by her own spasms around his cock.

He kissed her, thorough and deep. When their lips parted, they stared at one another, catching their breath. He rested inside her, not separating, and she wondered at it. How long would he stay hard? Was it another aspect of Chiss biology that afforded them this additional intimacy?

Thrawn raised an eyebrow.

“What?” she asked.

“You have a question,” he said quietly. “I see it. In your expression.”

She shook her head. “If you start doing that with everyone, you’ll be accused of Jedi mind tricks, Thrawn.”

He smiled slowly. “Seeing the question is not knowing the question, Arihnda.”

Relenting, Pryce led her head fall back, eyes on the ceiling. “I have a lot of questions, Thrawn.” He was silent, so she looked at him once more. “Don’t you?”

He kissed her chin and rolled to his side. The loss of his body, his heat, felt like a sudden vacuum between her legs. Pryce shivered. Of course he noticed, standing and walking to retrieve her clothing from the desk area.

“I have a few,” he admitted, a very delayed answer to her query, as he returned and handed them over.

He sat cross-legged as she dressed, seemingly in no hurry to do the same.

“Such as?” she asked, feeling proud at herself for flipping the conversation his way. The discussion on Chiss sexual biology could wait. 

Thrawn’s eyes seemed to glow brighter. His mouth thinned, but whether in concentration or uncertainty she couldn’t say. He watched her dress, then tilted his head as if listening to some private advisor.

“What are your intentions?” He didn’t wait for an answer, thankfully. 

“Would Imperial fraternization regulations extend to the arrangement that the administrator of a sector has with the commander of the Fleet assigned to that sector?” Pryce’s fingers slipped as she tried to fasten her tunic. He had really thought about this, hadn’t he? 

He smiled then, and Pryce thought he was probably the most handsome man in the galaxy, in his own weird way. 

“Are you adverse to being romantically linked in public?” Her jaw dropped, but he continued. 

“And based upon the answers to those questions, I may have more, Arihnda.”

Oh. So he did expect her to answer. Pryce coughed, pleased and flattered and a little frightened of saying the wrong thing. She pulled on her boots and looked plainly at the naked alien sitting on the silk tapestry. She opened her mouth and closed it again, a bit taken aback. But she had just confessed her love for him, if only to herself, and she had similar questions, it was true.

She cleared her throat.

“As a politically-appointed Governor, I am not subject to military fraternization regulations, Grand Admiral. I mean, Thrawn.” 

It had been a reflex, while speaking bureaucratically, to use his title. His mouth tilted in amusement at her lapse and recovery as she continued. 

“Your position as commander of the Seventh Fleet does place you under some civilian authority when assigned to the sector, but I don’t think it should pose a problem.”

“Excellent,” Thrawn said, naked and calm on the floor. “That was my understanding as well.”

She nodded, not knowing what else to say regarding that. 

“I am not adverse to being romantically linked in public.”

Indeed, that was perhaps his most unexpected question, but the instant he’d asked it, she’d imagined the status, the attention from being at his side. Events, parties, conferences. The Grand Admiral’s … what? Partner? Consort? Girlfriend? Woman? Pryce dismissed the details. It would be exquisite. Power and prestige as well as passion. There was nothing anyone could do to stop them.

Thrawn was waiting patiently as she contemplated the possibilities. He probably could tell she liked the idea. Embarrassed, Pryce brought her thoughts back to the present. His first question. 

“And my intentions…well, that’s the type of question typically posed to the man in the relationship, Thrawn.”

“Why is that?” He seemed genuinely curious, and finally stood to dress himself.

His curiosity made her think. She wanted to give him an honest answer, because she really did hope he would make this easy. Make it clear. His red eyes stayed fixed on her as he pulled on his pants.

“I’m not sure,” she admitted, “It’s stupid. But I think it probably has something to do with this assumption that every woman wants similar stereotypical things—a husband, a family. And the added assumption that men often have a different idea about relationships. Or male perception is more likely to be counter to the more traditional idea.”

Thrawn said nothing, donning his undershirt. The silence unnerved her and she replayed her words in her brain. She probably sounded ridiculous, like him; so clinical. Pryce sighed, fighting off self-consciousness.

“Like I said, it’s an assumption. It doesn’t mean all women actually want that…” Stars, she was starting to babble. If he didn’t give her something to work with, she was well on her way to making a fool of herself, it was evident.

“What do you want?”

Thrawn’s distinctive voice suggested no negative opinion—even and calm. He had fastened his tunic, and was straightening the rank plaque and shoulder boards after he smoothed the wrinkles from the arms. There was still curiosity in his look.

Pryce swallowed. That was the question, then. Not her intentions. What did she want. She held his gaze, pleading for a pass. She’d offered him one, back on Chandrila, even if he had ultimately not used it. But Thrawn was good at reading her, wasn’t he? Why couldn’t he read this? Every part of her was begging him to confess his feelings so she wouldn’t have to be first.

Thrawn was suddenly before her, and pulled her into an embrace, kissing her with all the heat of the first time. She clutched him to her, taking it as an affirmation. This was a kiss that held a promise and delivered a message. He _had_ read her, she was certain, and he was telling her to tell him. That it was all right.

Thrawn looked down at Pryce as their lips separated. She felt the burn of his eyes and thought she saw hope there. Maybe she was getting good at reading him too.

“What do _you_ want, Arihnda?” he repeated. And this time she knew the answer, now that he’d given her his.

“Something real.”

Everything softened in his face, a tenderness there that she found impossible to believe she’d inspired, yet equally, desperately wanted to accept. And return.

“Done,” Thrawn answered.


End file.
